


Midnight Confessions

by serenityabrin



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gondolin Time Period, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25502935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityabrin/pseuds/serenityabrin
Summary: Voronwë and Tuor have reached Gondolin, but they haven't found peace.
Relationships: Tuor/Voronwë (Tolkien)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020





	Midnight Confessions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WolffyLuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolffyLuna/gifts).



Sunlight peeked over the horizon, showing the barren frozen landscape stretched out all around them. It was past time they should be up, but Voronwë did not move. He and Tuor had found a small hollow to tuck themselves into for the cold night. The tight fit, and the fact that Tuor was wrapped around him, meant it was the first warmth they'd managed to grab since starting off on this journey.

It would only get colder, Voronwë knew. They shouldn't tarry, but Voronwë couldn't force himself to wake his companion. It felt nice to be held like this. Any warmth felt nice, no matter how faint. This little hollow was a slice of heaven in a cold, dangerous world. Their sleep before now had been troubled by the sound of wolves and the sharp winds coming from the north. If Tuor needed more rest, Voronwë was loath to prevent that.

Voronwë watched the sun inch higher and higher. Eventually, he knew he could not wait any longer; they must get moving.

Reluctantly, he turned to wake the sleeping man. Or he tried to. The arms around him were like iron bands, tight and unmoving. Far too rigid for someone relaxed in slumber.

Touching the arm around his chest, alarms rang in Voronwë's mind as he felt how cold it was. The flesh was firmer than it should be, unnaturally stiff. In the brightening morning, the bluish tinge was visible, a coating of frost beginning to form.

Panicked, Voronwë struggled to get loose. But no matter how he moved, he couldn't escape the icy embrace.

_Bang! Bang!_

Voronwë jolted awake, panting hard. For a moment, he was completely disoriented as to where he was. The soft bed and darkened room were so different from the frozen hollow; it did not immediately come to him that he'd been dreaming.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

The banging startled Voronwë, and he realized it was someone pounding on the door that had woken him up.

Scowling, Voronwë threw off his covers. He remembered now that his father had stayed the night up at the king's palace and all the servants had gone home. There was no one else to get the door.

He grabbed a candle, quickly lighting it with a flint, and hurried downstairs. The banging continued, louder and more insistent.

"I'm coming!" he yelled, although he doubted whoever it was had heard him. Voronwë was annoyed at the intrusion, waking him in the middle of the night.

There was a part of him, though, that was happy to have a distraction from the disturbing dream. It frustrated him to have something he had come to cherish become so twisted. There were many nights on the long road to Gondolin where Voronwë had curled up in Tuor's strong arms. Waking up with the man wrapped around him was a secret pleasure that Voronwë had returned to again and again in his memories since their return to the city.

To have that tainted by such a terrible nightmare wasn't something Voronwë wanted to think too hard on.

Dashing down the last stairs, Voronwë put the candle on a nearby table and rushed to the door. The banging was constant now. "Stop! I'm here!" he called, pulling the locking bar aside and yanking open the door as quick as possible in the hopes the neighbors hadn't been awakened yet.

Whoever it was on the other side stumbled forward to have the door so suddenly gone before them. They didn't quite land on their knees but it was a near thing.

Voronwë glanced outside but didn't see any lights on. Relieved, he shut the door firmly behind him and turned to see who his visitor was.

"Tuor?" Voronwë was doubly surprised when he saw the man. That Tuor would come so late was unexpected, but that he should do so looking so ragged was shocking. Tuor was wearing just enough to be presentable but it was clear he must have thrown on his clothes in the greatest of haste. His boots did not match. His undershirt had not been tied shut. Only two of the buttons to his coat had been done up, and they were in the wrong holes. His hair was unkempt, looking like he'd just rolled out of bed.

There was a wild look in his eyes that brought Voronwë up short. His ire instantly melted away into concern. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"You're here. You're alright?" Tuor's voice sounded strange.

Voronwë frowned. "Of course, I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be?" His confusion only heightened when Tuor seemed not to hear him. Instead, the man hesitantly reached out for him, and Voronwë was stunned to see his hands were shaking. It looked as if Tuor were reaching for a ghost, afraid to touch lest what he reached for wasn't really there.

Disturbed, Voronwë took his hand and squeezed it to reassure Tuor that he was quite solid. Tuor breath caught audibly in his throat and something seemed to break in him.

In an instant, Voronwë was pulled into Tuor's chest and wrapped in the tightest embrace he'd ever experienced.

The shaking was more pronounced from this position. "Tuor, what is it?" Voronwë asked, but it was clear that Tuor couldn't answer. The man buried his face in Voronwë's neck and held on as if his life depended on it.

Unsure what to do, Voronwë gently stroked Tuor's broad back and whispered meaningless reassurances in his ear.

Slowly, the shaking diminished. The strangling hold eased. Still, Tuor did not move, and Voronwë's words trailed away.

He was reminded of his own nightmare, of being in the one place he longed to be—Tuor's arms—but the reason was so very wrong. If Tuor weren't so clearly upset by something, Voronwë wanted nothing more than to stay right here in the other man's embrace.

But Tuor was upset, and Voronwë needed to know what had happened to shake him so.

Voronwë gently eased back, and Tuor finally allowed them to separate. Voronwë noted that he didn't let go completely, keeping a hand on Voronwë's arm.

"Better, now?" Voronwë asked. Tuor nodded. "What happened?"

Tuor would not meet his eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't . . . I don't know what's come over me."

"Tuor." At Voronwë's unimpressed tone, the man ducked his head in shame, since they both knew that wasn't true.

Voronwë waited until Tuor looked back up. Once he had the man's gaze locked on his own, Voronwë gently stroked Tuor's cheek. Morning scruff made for a rough texture against his fingertips—an exotic reminder that Tuor was not an Elf.

Gently, Voronwë said, "What is it?"

Tuor sighed in defeat. "Only a bad dream." He looked embarrassed, but there was also the edge from earlier—the clear panic and fright still lurking in the depths of Tuor's eyes.

"It must have been quite a dream to have you running across the whole city in the dead of night. What did you dream?" He moved his hand down to gently rub Tuor's arm.

It was clear Tuor did not want to discuss this. Voronwë waited, hoping he was conveying through his gaze and his touch that he only wished to ease whatever burden hung about his friend.

His patience was rewarded when Tuor finally explained, "I dreamed we were on the road to Gondolin. When we passed through the Vale of Sirion near the orcs, in my dream it went other than it did for us. I dream that we were caught and that you . . ."

Tuor's voice caught and it seemed he could not go on as a fresh wave of distress took hold. He breathed sharply through his nose, clearly willing the emotions to pass. Voronwë could feel the hold on his arm tighten.

"Tuor." Again, Voronwë said his name, and he would have told Tuor he didn't need to know more—not if it distressed him so—but Tuor viciously shook his head.

"They took you away and did to you what Lorgan did to his slaves—what he did to me!" Voronwë's eyes widened at that revelation, but Tuor did not give him a moment to speak. Grasping both of Voronwë's arms, Tuor's eyes were ablaze now. "I couldn't bear that for you. Do you understand? Not for you. There was nothing I could do but watch as they . . . as they . . ."

"Nothing happened!" Voronwë said, alarmed that he was losing Tuor to the memory of the nightmare that still haunted him. More calmly, he said, "I am fine. By Ulmo's power, we snuck past them without incident. No harm came to me. You _know_ that."

"Do I?" Tuor suddenly sounded exhausted. Voronwë peered closer at him. There were dark circles under his eyes that Voronwë had not noticed before.

"Tuor, when was the last time you had a good night's sleep?" Voronwë asked, beginning to have an inkling there was more going on here than he had first thought. One nightmare, no matter how frightening, would not send Tuor banging down his door in the middle of the night.

Tuor looked away, a telling sign for Voronwë. Again, Voronwë waited him out, wordlessly making it clear he would have an answer here. Reluctantly, Tuor turned back and admitted, "I have not slept well since we arrived here. Perhaps I am not fit for city-life."

Voronwë knew that wasn't true. He felt it in that place that had stirred the moment he'd seen Tuor standing upon the cliff at Nevrast—a feeling of destiny, of decision had been upon him. It was at that moment when everything changed.

Here was another such moment, only Voronwë felt he had more say in the matter than he had at Nevrast with Ulmo's mission hanging before them. He could speak up or he could remain silent: the choice was utterly his.

Remaining silent had been his decision so far. He feared to risk his heart, uncertain of the strength and nature of the bond that had developed between them on the road. He did not want to lose Tuor's friendship.

But it was clear Tuor was suffering, and Voronwë would risk anything to alleviate Tuor's pain. Even his own happiness.

Swallowing nervously, Voronwë reached out again to gently stroke Tuor's bristled cheek. "I doubt it is the city that haunts you. At least, that is not what has haunted me."

"Your sleep has been troubled too?" Tuor looked surprised. He immediately straightened, his body tensed as if ready to fight an enemy. It endeared Voronwë that he looked like he was ready to fight Voronwë's nightmares into submission.

Voronwë nodded in answer to Tuor's question. "Your knocking woke me from a nightmare. My dream was also from our time on the road here. I dreamed that I woke up to find you had frozen solid during the night." Voronwë swallowed. "It was a very unpleasant discovery." To put it mildly.

"That didn't happen," Tuor said gently.

A faint smile touched Voronwë's lips, seeing Tuor in his shoes from only a few minutes ago. "It doesn't really diminish the power of the nightmare, though, does it?"

Tuor's expression fell, and it was clear his own dream appeared before him. Shuddering, he whispered, "No. No, it doesn't."

Voronwë framed Tuor's face in his hands to draw the man's attention back to him. "My nightmare tonight was the first of its kind, but my sleep has still been troubled since we returned here. Other dreams haunt my sleep, tormenting me not with fearsome might-have-beens or terrible visions of loss and pain, but rather with the opposite."

Tuor looked confused. "The opposite?"

It was now that Voronwë truly stood upon the precipice of his decision. He could still turn away, and he was certain Tuor would allow it.

But Tuor was so close. Voronwë had him in his hands. Tuor had reached out to him, a hand settled on his hip to keep contact. The tide of insight rose up in Voronwë like one of Ossë's waves, and he let it carry him through the admission.

"I have been tormented by what I cannot have. The might-have-been that haunts me is not being caught by orcs upon the road. Instead, I dream of the moment where we touched hands while reaching for the same piece of bread and then caught eyes, and it seemed like something more would happen. In my dream, I do not break eye contact, and you do not shy away. In my dream, your hold remains firm and you draw me closer. In my dream, what I desire is not locked inside my heart for fear of what will happen if I release it. In my dream, my confessions are met with like admissions, and there is nothing to fear."

"Voronwë-" Tuor began, but it was Voronwë's turn now to shake his head to stop Tuor's speech. He needed to get this all out now or he never would.

"I am tormented by my inaction—then and now. I should have said something, done something. I let the moment pass, and it seems impossible now to recapture it. But I wonder if I haven't imagined it all, and there was no moment at all, only a foolish Elf's fantasies."

Voronwë looked away, ashamed of what he had admitted, suddenly sure that it was all in his head after all. Tuor was Ulmo's chosen emissary. He might say he was only an escaped thrall, but Voronwë stood by his assertion that Tuor was a king of Men. Tuor had a great destiny written about him. What was Voronwë compared to that?

A gentle hand to his chin made him look back. Tuor's expression was one of such tenderness. "You want me?" Tuor's tone was one of wonder. "You . . . _love_ me?

"With all my heart," Voronwë said softly.

In an instant, they were back to that moment that had haunted Voronwë so. Caught in each other's gaze, hanging over the edge of a decision.

This time, Tuor broke the stalemate. He pulled Voronwë to him again, this time capturing his mouth in a fierce kiss.

Voronwë sagged against him, surrendering to the kiss as relief flooded through him. Once again, he was wrapped in a tight hug. Tuor lifted him off his feet to swing up around, and Voronwë broke the kiss to laugh.

"I love you too," Tuor said, setting Voronwë down. His face was radiant with joy, and Voronwë's doubts melted away to see it. "I didn't think that Elves and Men . . . that you would be interested . . ."

Voronwë put a finger over Tuor's lips to stop that line of thought. "This Elf is very interested."

Tuor's smile softened, once again tender and loving. "I am glad. Since we met beside the sea, my eyes have only been for you. I want no other."

He reached out to slip a stray lock of hair back behind Voronwë's ear, a thoughtful look on his face. "But I've been missing you, haven't I? I grew accustomed to your presence by my side every night; I hadn't anticipated I would lose that once we reached Gondolin."

"And it troubles your sleep?" Voronwë guessed.

"You may be right." There was a cautiously expectant light in Tuor's eyes.

Voronwë's tongue darted out to wet his suddenly dry lips, nervousness assailing him. "There is one way to find out."

"Your bed wouldn't be big enough for two, would it?" Tuor asked, still hesitant, but also hopeful.

"It is." Once again, Tuor had drawn Voronwë close. The warmth of the man was intoxicating. "You really do look like you could use a week's worth of sleep."

"I feel it." Tuor kissed Voronwë's nose. "I think I would sleep soundly if you were there."

"Then come." Voronwë took Tuor's hand and grabbed the candle before leading them back to his room. He was nervous but also more certain than he'd been since returning home. This was the right choice.

They would sleep well tonight, and then they would see what tomorrow brought.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> I want to send a huge thank you to Karios for beta'ing. All remaining mistakes are mine.


End file.
